Running in Circles
by MelpomeneThaliaClio
Summary: What if Justin had never adopted Harry? The Leandasidhe becomes Harry's teacher after a bargain is struck. Violence, faery problems, uncomfortable questions, destruction, and White Council trouble are all guaranteed. AU
1. I Hate Hospitals

**Summary: What if Justin had never adopted Harry? The Leandasidhe becomes Harry's teacher after a bargain is struck. Violence, a stolen love, uncomfortable questions, destruction, and White Council trouble are all guaranteed.  
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**Rating for violence and language.**

**Bookverse.  
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**A/N: This is an AU story. Suggestions and criticism are appreciated. This is just the first chapter, so a lot will be explained later. **

My name is Harry Dresden and I'm currently on the run from a very scary Faery Godmother.

As I leapt out of the narrow tear between worlds, I was bleeding from dozens on cuts and slashed all over my body, but they weren't what worried me. I was pretty sure my left side was frostbitten, and it hurt to breathe. My left arm was shattered; a bit of bone poked out of my forearm. The tumble onto a cement alleyway had also added to my collection of injuries. Trying to suppress screams of pain, I slouched down against the graffiti covered brick wall. Blood already stained the concrete beneath me. The opening into the Nevernever had sealed itself before I evened turned to look at it. I tried to smile through the pain, but I think it came out as more of a snarl. I needed to get moving; even though I didn't think she would or could follow me here, my godmother had pulled off more difficult tricks before. I needed to move, now.

Clutched in my right hand was my blasting rode, a long, thin rod covered in runes and sigils, with blood dripping from the tip. My blood, unfortunately. I heaved myself to me feet once again, clenching my jaw and trying to blink back tears. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, drowning out the sound of traffic, if there was any. I stumbled down the short alley, trying to keep the world from tilting. My backpack thumped against my back, confirming that my cargo hadn't been lost. I couldn't feel the sense of relief that I knew should've accompanied the thought; I was half drunk from pain and blood loss. Thankfully, though, there was no full moon tonight, so if there were any people out, they wouldn't get a good look at me.

I reached the mouth of the alley, blinking away blood and tears. I didn't have anywhere to go, and I had no idea what I was doing. It was a mistake to go back, but I didn't care. I had nothing left. Insane laughter bubble up in my throat, and I tried to stuff it back down. I needed to concentrate; I needed to get as far away from here as I could. I just didn't know how far I could actually get under my own power. Blood had soaked one leg of my pants, and I had managed to lose one of my sneakers at some point. I couldn't think through the pain, and I was scared half out of my mind. It was all I could do to keep walking and breathing.

I don't exactly know at which point I ended up on the ground, but I blinked and suddenly my cheek was planted firmly against the warm asphalt. I tried to keep blinking, but the blood was so thick over my eyes that I couldn't see anymore. My wounds throbbed in time to my heartbeat, and I could only take shallow breaths. Just before the red faded into black, I think I heard the sound of a woman shouting at me, but her voice was just so far away and my mouth wasn't working. Instead, I just let myself drift away. I hurt too much and was too tired to try anymore. The world went away, and for a moment all I heard was the rush of my blood in my ears. Then, I was gone.

My first thought when I woke up was: _That beeping sound is really fucking annoying. _

I could smell antiseptic in the air and it was just a little bit too cold. I peeled open my eyes, and the white light blinded me for a moment before they adjusted. It was at this point I realized I was in a hospital and that beeping sound was coming from a heart monitor beside me. As soon as I noticed, my heart rate shot up and the beeping became alarmingly fast and loud. A wave of magic went out with my panic, slamming into the monitor. It went up in a shower of sparks, smoke rising from it. The room went mercifully silent aside from my own breathing.

Suddenly I noticed that nothing hurt, not even my ruined left arm. Confused, I looked down at it only to see a giant white bundle in its place, but I think I could see the outline of some kind of splint or brace through it. But it didn't hurt – not my ribs, not my side, not my head, not my leg. I think they juiced me on morphine or something. My head felt fuzzy, like there was a veil over my thoughts. I couldn't think straight. I knew I shouldn't be here, though. I had to get away, had to run…

Just then, three nurses and a few doctors run into the room, all of their faces set in panic. The nurses rushed over to the newly hexed machine while the doctors checked on me. I think they were talking, but the fuzz in my brain was just so distracting. I couldn't make any sense of most of their words. The only one I understood was, "rest." I was tired and still couldn't think straight, so I just stopped trying to make sense of anything and drifted back into the dark.

It felt like I'd only just blinked when I woke up again, but now the beeping I was back. I guess they replaced the one I'd broken. Oops. My self-control wasn't the most reliable when I first woke up. I managed to keep my breathing even and my heart rate steady as I took stock of the room before me; I chose to ignore the _how _in favor of the _where_. It was clear that I was in the hospital, probably in the ICU. The room was mostly bare, aside from the monitors beside me, a TV hanging on the wall, and a chair with a woman sitting in it. I did a double take at the last one. The woman was reading some sort of file; she hadn't noticed I was awake. Even sitting down, I could see that she was very small; barely over five feet tall, but I could also see the marks of an athlete on her frame. Her blonde hair was tied up, but I could see ringlets falling from it. Her face was pretty, with an adorably upturned nose, and I guessed she was in her mid-twenties. Her dark blue blouse was slightly rumpled with the sleeves rolled up. I could see the matching gray jacket to her pants hanging over the back of the chair. A golden badge hung from her belt with a gun to match. She was a cop.

Against my better judgment, my heart rate sped up and so did the beeping. She looked at me now, and, seeing that I was awake, put down her file. I could see now that her eyes were a bright, intelligent blue, and right now they were examining me. I quickly looked away, opting instead to look at the bundle that covered my entire arm. The bandages looked fresh and clean; I guess the docs changed it while I was out. The curtain that had covered my thoughts had lifted, but so had the one over my pain. I could feel each wound very distinctly throbbing beneath the thin hospital sheets and bandages, but the pain was duller than before. Carefully, I closed my eyes and tried to rein in the pain. Studying under Godmother, my pain management had gotten almost frighteningly good. After a few minutes, I reopened my eyes, and saw that the cop was no longer sitting in the chair, though her suit jacket still hung over the back. I felt relief wash over me; I didn't have any answers to the questions I knew she'd ask, not any that she'd actually believe, anyway. But then I saw her out of the corner of my eye, right beside me. I managed to suppress the need to flinch away – it would have hurt too much, but my face must've betrayed me.

"You're alright," she said, her voice soft and melodic. If I hadn't seen her badge, I would've never guessed that this tiny woman was a cop. "You're alright." She started to move her hand towards my face, but stopped halfway and drew back.

I could only blink at her. "How long have I been out?" God, my voice sounded awful, like I'd swallowed a bowl of nails. Rusty nails, sprinkled liberally with staples and razor blades.

She frowned when I spoke and reached for a glass of water I hadn't noticed before. She offered me a sip, turning the straw towards my lips. I felt vaguely embarrassed at this, but it was made worse that I actually needed her help. I sipped slowly at the cool water; I swear it was the best thing I've ever drunk. After a moment, she withdrew the glass and turned to look me once more. I was tempted to return her gaze, but I just closed my eyes and leaned back instead, waiting for her to answer me.

"I found you last night just after 3 am; it's a little before 8 at night." Her voice had turned clinical, professional, but she kept the volume down, for which I was grateful. My head felt like an angry faery was pounding it with a hammer, and, yes, I actually knew how that felt.

I'd been out for _17 hours_. I kept my eyes closed. There was no panic now, only defeat and confusion. It was too late to run anywhere, but I didn't see how I'd lived even this long. Godmother may have been hurt worse than I thought, or, more likely, she had something else in mind for me.

"What's your name?" Her voice broke my reverie, and my eyes snapped open. "We found no ID on you, only a stick and a black backpack."

Now I did feel panicked, but I was careful to keep it from my face. She hadn't mentioned finding a random human skull, so I decided not to mention it. Bob had been wisely quiet, apparently. I actually thought about what I was going to say, for once. I didn't really see the harm in telling her my name, but I wasn't exactly in the clearest state of mind. I was screwed either way, though. There was nothing she could do for me.

"Harry," I mumbled. My mouth and throat still weren't cooperating with me, and it came out jumbled. She raised one eyebrow, silently asking me to repeat myself. I cleared my throat and tried again; my voice was a bit stronger this time. "Harry Dresden. Who are you?"

I didn't see her get it out, but she started writing in her notebook, nodding as her pencil ran across the page. "Sergeant Murphy of the Chicago Police Department, Special Investigations Division." Her voice was clipped, professional. "Do you know who did this to you?" Something in her tone made it sound more like a demand than a question, and my temper flared. I have major issues with authority figures.

"Oh, yes. I even managed to take pictures and get their autograph, too."

Her eyes narrowed at me; I don't think she appreciated my sparkling wit. I tried to smile mockingly at her, but it pulled at some cut on my face I hadn't notice, reopening it. I reached up with the non-bandaged hand, and my fingers came away stained with blood. I froze as a thought come to me. Blood was not something you just left lying around in the circles I ran in, but that was exactly what I'd done. A puddle of my blood lay in some nameless alleyway and no doubt the hospital had piles of gauze covered in my blood. Bad. That was Bad, with a capital B. My mind raced, trying to work this out, rationalize it. Nobody would know it was my blood in the alley, probably. And it's not like hospitals just give away people's blood. At least, I hoped not.

I snapped out of it when I felt something being pushed into my hand. The cop was trying to hand my some gauze for my cheek. I frowned as I took it and pressed it against my cheek. I'd try and burn it or something later.

"I am trying to help you, you know," she murmured. Her eyes flickered over me and her frown deepened.

I closed my eyes and sank further into the pillow. I just wanted to disappear. "You can't help me. I don't think anybody can." My voice sounded heavy, and years old than I really was. I was young, but my life hadn't been easy so far, and I'd lost the only thing that had ever been mine.

"Who?" The question was simple enough, and so was the answer. But she would never believe me.

"I got my head hit pretty hard," I had no natural ability to lie, but having a faery as your tutor does has its advantages. "Head injuries have been known to cause partial amnesia."

"So you don't remember?"

My eyes were still closed when I answered her; Lea always told me my eyes gave away the trick. "Everything's all jumbled." Which was true. The attack itself wasn't jumbled, not at all. That was crystal clear. But the situation was jumbled, tied up in knots I wasn't sure I could undo.

She didn't say anything for a while, and I finally opened my eyes. She was still standing in the same spot, but she'd put her notebook away, and had her arms crossed and her lips pursed as she stared at me; she wasn't falling for it. I didn't like the feeling of her suspicion; it's never good to have somebody smart suspect you for anything - especially if their suspicions are true.

"Well, Mr. Dresden, here's my card," she pulled out a small piece of card stock and laid it on the table by the bed, next to the half-empty cup of water. "Call me if you remember anything." There was subtle emphasis of the 'remember', but I only nodded at her. She tried to stare me in the eyes, but I kept my gaze firmly on her adorably upturned nose. She looked more like a cheerleader than a cop, but I could tell she was very good at her job. The only reason she hadn't pressed me harder was because I was a victim not a suspect.

I felt my lip twitch a bit at that. I did not enjoy playing the victim role; it hurt my macho pride. I disliked being in the hospital, too; it wasn't like I was afraid of them or anything, though. Hospitals never seemed to be a place for miracles or hope to me, just a place for the dying to die and the injured to sleep. What I really hated, though, was that I couldn't do a damn thing. My world had been torn apart, and now I was literally torn apart.

I looked away before the sergeant did, glancing down at the card beside me before picking it up.

**Sergeant Karrin Murphy**

**Special investigations, Chicago Police Department**

**(312)555-0987**

I heard her grab her jacket and pause in the doorway for a moment, as though she was waiting for something. For a moment, I wanted to tell her everything. About Lea, about our deal, about the homes, about New York, about Elaine, about the fight. Everything. I don't know why. But I kept my eyes firmly on the card and my mouth firmly close, and she left me alone in an empty hospital room with nothing but regrets and an unforgivable lack of painkillers.


	2. I Have the Worst Luck

**A/N: In the last paragraph of the previous chapter, I wrote something about New York… Disregard that. I forgot to edit it out of my first draft. (x**

** Anyway, so I know there were some bits that weren't quite explained… but they will be; I pinky promise!**

**Q&A**

**Continuity question: If Harry was never adopted by Justin, how does he know Elaine?**

_That'll get explained, too, I promise. But if I tell you now, it'll spoil the story. (;_

**Also: how old is Harry in this?**

_ Harry is 19 years old._

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After the Sergeant left, I just kind of lay there for a while, considering my life. Was I a product of my environment, or had I been born this way? Nature versus nurture, I suppose. I was an angry person, there was no denying it, but I always tried to be a good person, too. Lea had not been a gentle teacher, but I had learned a lot from her. Perhaps I'd even liked her, before, but not anymore. Not after all that had happened between us.

Suddenly, I felt exhausted; I was just so tired - tired of magic, and faeries, and the supernatural. I wanted to go back in time, when everything was alright, and I could pretend none of it was real or at least that I wasn't a part of it. Back to when I had Elaine. Even if she hadn't known everything, we'd been happy together. I reached up for the pentacle I knew would be at my throat; it was the only thing I had left of my mom, and it was the only thing I had for comfort. I loved Elaine; I still did. But I had abandoned her, albeit with good reason. I hoped she was alright, and I was desperate enough to actually consider praying as well. I quickly dismissed the idea, deciding that any pleas from me to the Almighty would be more likely have the opposite effect than the one I wanted. I wondered if she was afraid for me or afraid of me; she had good reason for both. I wanted to go find her, to try and explain all that had happened, but I didn't want to put her in even more danger. Lea was not happy with me, and anywhere I went was likely to be attacked.

I wondered why she hadn't already attacked the hospital yet. I briefly considered whether or not it was because even the Leandasidhe had issues with involving innocent, sick people in our fight, but dismissed the notion. It was more likely that she didn't want to deal with the witnesses that would no doubt be left behind afterwards. And there was very little doubt in my mind that she would be the one dealing with the witnesses. In a fair fight, there was no way in Hell I would ever be able to beat her, and I had used all of my iron shavings the first time. No, if she came for me now, I would lose in the worst way possible. I doubted I would be able to fight her at all, actually. The pain would make it hard to concentrate enough to get a decent evocation or even a decent shield. I would die in the first few seconds.

I hadn't notice the nurse come in until she starting fiddling with my IV, make the tube tug at the skin in the fold of my elbow. She was average height with an above average bosom. The caramel of her skin looked nice against her pink scrubs and her dark hair was tied up in a simple knot.

"Just a little morphine, to help with the pain." She smiled at me as she injected it into the IV; she had a nice smile. I tried to smile back at her, but the morphine had already gotten to me, so I think it looked a little loopy. She smiled at me again and patted my hand gently. "Just get some rest, alright? Sleep is always an excellent cure."

It sounded like a good idea, made even better by the feeling of my pain receding. I decided morphine was the best thing mankind had ever invented. I was asleep before she left the room.

When I woke up again, the room was very dark. The only light I could see was very faint and came from down the hall, probably from the nurses' station. The morphine had worn off a bit, and I could think clearly again, mostly. I grimaced as the pain came back again, too. Still, I had to think about just how much my little hospital visit would cost. I had no money, no insurance, and it wasn't like hospitals treated people for free anymore. They had free clinics for that. Still, I had no way of paying for anything, and I had no intention of dealing with more uncomfortable questions from a certain blonde cop.

I looked around again and listened carefully for the sound of anybody approaching. After a moment, I decided nobody was coming, and I tore the IV out of my arm. In retrospect, that may not have been the smartest move in the world. I hissed as the tape ripped out my arm hair and blood spurted out of the freshly exposed vein, quickly clamping my hands over it. I looked around me for something to cover it with, and quickly spotted the bit of gauze Sergeant Murphy had given me earlier for my cheek. It would have to do. I used the tape from the IV to hold it down, and wiped my bloody fingers on my hospital gown.

With that taken care of, I threw off the blankets covering me and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Goosebumps erupted over my skin as the full force of the chilly hospital air hit me. The motion made the gown ride up and I noticed that I had no boxers on. I frowned as I realized that they had probably taken my clothes away, but I didn't know whether or not the hospital had taken them as trash or if the police had taken them as material evidence. I was more worried about the latter than the former; people who ran in my circles could do major damage with a person's blood. I took some comfort in knowing that it would probably be dry by now, rendering it almost completely useless. I would've been really screwed if somebody got a hold of my hair.

Still, I had nothing to wear, but I had to get out of here anyway. It was Chicago, I reasoned, there are weirder things to look at than a beat up guy in a hospital gown, not many things, but still. I heaved myself off the bed with a groan. There was another bandage wrapped from mid-thigh to my knee, spots of blood decorating it. I knew the stitches beneath it were bound to rip if I moved around too much, but there really wasn't much I could do about that. I wasn't sure was they'd done to my arm, but I think it involved surgery; it had been just about shattered. I lifted the gown to examine my side; it was covered in bandages. Some were for broken ribs, but I could see slight discoloration from where they also covered my half-frozen side. It had thawed out by now, but Godmother's blast of ice had to have taken several layers of skin off, leaving it oozing and blood. I considered myself lucky that it had only been my side she'd hit.

All in all, running around Chicago avoiding police and medical bill collectors probably was not in my best interest, but I didn't care. I couldn't stay here. I limped heavily as I crossed the room to get to my backpack; it was underneath the TV in the corner. I suppressed a cry of pain when I had to bend down to pick it up.

"Bob," I whispered harshly as I unzipped it. "Bob!"

After a few seconds, I saw golden light coming out of the bag. There was a slight rustling as the bleached white skull twisted around to stare up at me. In its eyeholes, amber light flickered, almost like there were two candles you couldn't quite see inside. It had really freaked me out for the first few days I'd had it, but you get used to weird shit when you have a faery godmother teaching you about being a wizard. Bob had been a gift from Lea; well, it had been more of an exchange, really. She got one year from my natural life, and I got Bob. I didn't really think I'd survive long enough for the extent of my natural life to matter, but I did think that Bob would help me to live through at least a few misadventures.

"Well, hello there Mr. Sunshine. Don't we look dashing today?" He was cranky; I don't think Bob liked being left in my backpack for at least 24 hours all by his lonesome.

"Oh, shut up, Bob. You know I'm sexy," I replied. "You know what happened, right?" I wanted Bob's advice, but I had to be sure he knew the situation first. I didn't have time to deal with him being pissy.

"You mean do I know about you and Lea getting in a knock-down, drag-out fight because she kicked your girlfriend's ass?" I glared at Bob, my right fist clenching the straps until my knuckles went white. Something in my face made Bob gulp – an impressive feat for somebody without a tongue, saliva, or a throat - and he quickly back-tracked. "What I meant to say was: Yes, I do."

I forced my hand to relax before I answered him. "Why hasn't Lea come back? I didn't hurt her that badly, did I?" My voice was cold, but I actually was worried about her, despite everything. She had been the only constant in my life since I was a kid, and she mattered to me. I didn't know if I meant anything to her, though, or if I was just a toy to be played with.

"No, she'll heal just fine. She'll probably send somebody else to bring you back to her. After you dumped cold iron onto her, I think she'll want to have a talk with you." He paused for a moment, and his bony brow seemed to furrow. "You know, she may not want you dead. She did make a deal with your mother. I don't know the exact terms, but I doubt killing you was included in them."

Now it was my turn to pause and furrow my brow. "She came pretty damn close to do it anyway." I said darkly.

"I'd call that one self-defense; you did attack her first," came the cheerful reply.

"With good reason," I snapped back before roughly zipping the backpack closed again. It was harder than I thought, but my broken arm wasn't helping very much. Gratefully, I saw that somebody had put my blasting rod into the front pocket of the backpack; it took two weeks to carve out a new one, and I just knew that I would need it soon. My shield bracelet was in my jacket pocket, but my jacket was in the same pocket as Bob, from when I'd shoved it earlier, and I had no desire to speak to the air spirit at the moment, so I left it there. I knew it was a childish and possibly fatal thing to do, but I didn't care.

I grunted as I swung the bag over one shoulder; Bob's skull wasn't very soft, and it struck a sore spot. Still, I was careful to be quiet after I left my room. The light from down the hall was still on, so I went the opposite direction. I tried to keep my footsteps quiet, but my bare feet stuck to the cold tile a bit. About halfway down the hall, I noticed a closet. Hoping, I opened the door very carefully. It was unlocked, and I breathed a sigh of relief. And, even better, it was stocked with spare scrubs. I looked up and down the hall before stepping inside to change. There was a collection of colorful scrubs, but I opted for the more neutral ones. It wasn't hard to find a blue shirt in my size, but the pants were harder. Finding pants for a guy closer to 7 feet than six was always hard, but sweatpants were easier. It took a moment, but I found a pair of blue scrub pants that only exposed a little bit of ankle. It hurt to pull on the pants and it was almost impossible to maneuver the shirt over my left arm, but it got done eventually. I even found a pair of socks, but there were no shoes. I guess you can't have everything you want.

Still, I was relieved to be dressed again. I stepped out of the closet, half expecting an Angry Lea to be waiting for me, but the hallway was mercifully empty. I tried to walk like I was supposed to be here; body language can often get you a lot farther than a lie. But I had a broken arm and a major limp, and I think the stitches on my leg had reopened. I came to the end of the hallway, and I stopped to consider whether or not I should risk the elevator or suffer through a walk down the stairs. I decided that the elevator could survive a thirty second ride with a beat up wizard and mashed the down button. The doors pinged open immediately, and the noise was almost deafening in the hallway. I glanced worriedly down the hallway, but nobody was coming.

I breathed out a sigh of relief as I stepped into the elevator, pressing 'L' for lobby. I stood in the elevator, tapping my foot, and remembered all the reasons I hated elevators. They made me feel claustrophobic, they had a 50/50 shot of breaking down around a wizard, and elevator music was just about the worst thing invented. The short ride felt like an eternity, but after a few seconds, the doors pinged open once again, revealing a mostly empty lobby. There was a mother holding her sleeping daughter sitting in one corner and an old man with an oxygen tank was speaking to one of the nurses at the front desk. I glanced at the clock above the nurses' station; it was just passed 2 in the morning.

Nobody looked up when I stepped out of the elevator; there was only two nurses working this time of night, and they were both busy. I hurried out of the front door, eager to get out of the hospital. I didn't just want to leave because of my lack of insurance or to avoid Sergeant Murphy; I wanted to leave because hospitals always had an air of despair hanging over them. I really, really hated hospitals.

I breathed in deeply as I stepped out into the night air. It was only barely warmer outside than it had been in the hospital. The streetlights illuminated the mostly empty hospital parking lot. I felt a pang of jealousy as I walked past a Mercedes; I still didn't own a car, and I was 19 years old. Neither Lea nor any of my foster parents had ever thought to get me one – Lea because she never used such things and my foster parents because they were all assholes - and I still lacked the funds I needed to buy one by myself.

I was lucky that it hadn't rained and it was still early in September; the asphalt was warm and dry, so my borrowed socks stayed comfortable. I walked for a while, thinking about little things that didn't matter and avoiding my real problems. Walking always helped me to clear my head; I could think better after I walked off all the stress and random thoughts and worries. I don't know how long I walked before I heard the noises, probably a little over half an hour. I don't know how long they'd been following me, but suddenly I was acutely away of the sound of lumbering footsteps behind me, heavy breathing, and a god awful stench – like horses, a homeless man, and a port-a-potty rolled into one. As soon as the smell hit me, I realized what was going on.

Bob had been right; Godmother had sent a fucking troll after me. I was tempted to start hyperventilating, but that would mean breathing in the troll's BO, and that was a fate almost worse than death. Still, he hadn't realized I knew he was behind me, so I kept walking at the same pace. My mind raced, trying to find a way out of this. I was better off than I had been the night before, but I was still too tired and hurt to be slinging around any serious magic. Trolls weren't extremely difficult to kill so far as supernatural creatures go and normally I could handle one without a problem, but I had had the stuffing beat out of me and I doubted I could take on a dewdrop faery at the moment. Still, I let my hand creep around the side of my bag to pull out my blasting rob from my backpack; I'd left it hanging halfway out just in case.

As soon as I felt my fingertips brush against the carved tip, I whipped around to face the troll and quite possibly my death. He towered over me by at least two feet and he was at least twice as wide, covered in thick, ropy muscle and hair; he wore only a loin cloth. All in all, he reminded me of an oversized Neanderthal with a smaller head and bigger teeth. He bared his teeth at me and raised one arm, a heavy looking wooden club clutched in his melon-sized fist.

"Come with Gorsan, Harry Dresden," his voice was deep and rumbling and very, very stupid. Trolls are not known for their intelligence. "The Leandasidhe demands it."

I looked from the club to his face to my own comparatively tiny blasting rod. I swallowed hard and steeled my nerves. "I'm not sure I like the sexual implications there, Gorsan. I think I'll have to turn your offer – you're just not my type, sweetheart."

Gorsan roared and swung down the club. People always say adrenaline seemed like it makes the world slow down, but it always seemed like it just made me think faster and notice things I'd rather not. For example, I could see every drop of spit that flew from Gorsan's lips, I could see his arm muscles tense as he swung, and I could see the grain of the wood on the club just before it hit the side of my head, but I didn't have enough time to move or do anything about it. The club hit me just behind my ear, and I heard the sound of my head against the wood before I felt it. Just as the fresh pain in my head registered, I slammed into the side of a building, landing on my broken arm.

I couldn't even scream as I lay dazed on the sidewalk. I could feel the blood dripping down my neck and chin and so bloodstains blossom on the bandages on my arm. My vision was spotted with stars and black holes and I couldn't remember what was going on. I could only see a hulking, blurry shape standing before me. _Something smells awful… _I felt something clamp down hard over my leg, but I couldn't even feel any pain anymore. The human body is only meant to endure so much. Suddenly there was a blindingly bright, blue light coming from the same direction my legs were pointing. I wanted to shield my eyes, but I couldn't quite locate my arms.

"Put down that man," the Voice was strong and sure, and yes it was a Voice not a voice - too much power in it to just be a regular voice.

"Gorsan's mistress demands him." Oh, yeah. I suddenly I remembered I was being kidnapped by a troll. _I have the worst luck.  
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"If you do not release him, then I will be forced to attack you," the Voice spoke again. I still couldn't see the source of the Voice; it was coming from behind Gorsan, and I couldn't find my neck in order to twist my head. That blow to the head would probably be a major problem later, but right now I was just grateful that I couldn't feel it or anything else.

A mighty roar came from Gorsan's throat and I winced from my spot on the floor at the noise. I think the Voice and Gorsan fought, but I couldn't see them – blood had dripped back into my eyes. I don't know how long I lay on the ground, but I was starting to feel things again, which was a major negative, but I could move again, which was a positive. At least I hadn't broken my neck.

"Are you alright, son?" The Voice said. I flinched at its proximity, but instantly regretted it. Through the blood, I could see the vague form of a man. The glowing was gone now.

"Oh, yeah. He just looked like such a fun guy. I have the worst taste in men." My words were slurred, but I knew he understood me because I heard a vague chuckle.

"My name's Michael," the Voi- Michael said. I felt strong arms reach under my armpits, dragging me halfway upright. "Can you walk?"

"Harry Dresden at your service. And not even a little bit." I chirped cheerfully, or at least tried to. Then I passed out – again.


	3. I Need to Get Out of Here

_"My name's Michael," the Voi- Michael said. I felt strong arms reach under my armpits, dragging me halfway upright. "Can you walk?"_

_"Harry Dresden at your service. And not even a little bit." I chirped cheerfully, or at least tried to. Then I passed out – again._

I woke up in an unfamiliar place, but this time it wasn't a hospital room; it was a moving car. I was propped up in the passenger seat with the seatbelt strapped against me. The gentle rumbling of the engine reminded me of a cats purr, and I could see the city rushing past the window.

_How the hell did I get here? _I was getting extremely tired of not knowing how I'd gotten places. The last thing I remembered was a troll attempting to kidnap me for my godmother and then a bizarre man named Michael stopping aforementioned kidnapping. I assumed it was his car that I was in now, and panic rushed into me all at once. I thought I knew where he was headed, and I also knew that there would be lots of uncomfortable questions and even more uncomfortable bills.

"No hospitals," I croaked. My throat was raw and dry; I wondered if I'd been screaming without realizing it.

I was facing the window instead of the man beside me, but I could feel it when he turned to look at me.

"You need medical attention, son." Michael had a very distinctive voice; deep and smooth and laced with power. Not my kind of power, though – not magic – but a different kind. I couldn't identify it, but I knew it was there.

I knew Michael was right; I needed a hospital, but I refused to go. My world was spinning and little black spots danced in my vision. I felt like everything was being heard through a thick blanket. I could hear the sound my heart rushing in my ears; it reminded me of the ocean.

"No… hospitals." I breathed out before I passed out once more.

This time when I woke up, it was warm and quiet. I was glad for the warmth of the room; the scrubs weren't very thick and I still had no socks. The weight of a blanket pressed on me, and I was relieved that there was no beeping sound; it meant I was not in a hospital. It seemed that Michael had listened to me, which was surprising. I didn't know whether I was happy or disappointed; my entire body was screaming at me, and my head throbbed. I kept my eyes closed, though. I could also feel the weight of somebody's gaze on me. I didn't want them to know I was awake; I was not in the mood to be answering any questions at the moment, or ever, really. I heard the soft sound of a door creaking open.

"Michael," I didn't recognize this voice. It was a woman's; her tone clearly relieved, but she kept her voice down to a whisper. How considerate.

I cracked open my eyes just enough to peak out through the lashes. The light in the room was mercifully dim, and I could see a man who I assumed to be Michael sitting in a wooden chair beside me out of the corner of my eye. I took the opportunity to examine my apparent savior. His black hair was cropped close to his head and I could see a neatly trimmed matching beard. The sleeves of his red plaid shirt were pushed up to his elbows, and I could see the thick muscle corded on his arms. I could tell her was over six feet tall, but not as tall as I was. Still, he had to be twice as wide, and none of it looked like fat.

There was also a blonde woman standing in the doorway; she had to be the one who'd spoke. Michael rose and the two ran across the small room to embrace one another. The woman had to be at least six feet tall, and was built like a brick house, but Michael stood a few inches taller than her. They stood there for a while, with her head buried in his shoulder as she squeezed him tightly, and I felt like an intruder on an intensely private moment.

I averted my eyes and examined the room. It was small and almost everything was made of wood – the floor, the wall, the bookcase, the chairs, the desk. There were a few metal filing cabinets behind the desk, though. I let my head fall slowly to one side and noticed a small end table beside me. A worn bible sat on top and my backpack rested beside it. I felt a wave of relief when I saw the tip of the blasting rod poking through the top; I couldn't see Bob, but I assumed her would be in there, too. I also noticed that the bed I was laying on was too small to be a proper bed; a little too narrow and most of my calves were hanging off the end. It was more like a cot.

"He hasn't woken yet, has he?" The woman's voice interrupted my examination. Even with my head turned, I could just barely see the two of them standing just inside the doorway. They had released one another for the most part, but Michael kept one arm wound around her waist as they turned to look at me.

"No, he's been asleep the entire time." Michael paused. "I wonder why he didn't want to go to the hospital, though. It's clear that he needs medical attention." I was still unclear as to why he hadn't brought me to a hospital, despite my request.

My headache was only getting worse from the strain of looking out of the corner of my eye, and I could barely see anyway. I closed them and tried to get the pain to recede so that I could pay attention to Michael and the woman's conversation; I needed to know what was going on.

"- still think you should've taken him. He looks half-dead." I missed the first part of the woman's statement, but her tone was slightly reproachful.

"Charity" – now I knew the woman's name – "please." Michael's voice was weary; it sounded like they'd had this argument several times before. There was silence for a beat before he spoke again. "Did you call her?"

Charity sighed. "Yes. Come on."

I heard footsteps and then the sound of a door closing. I waited a moment before opening my eyes all the way. Once again, I was grateful for the dim lighting. I wondered who they were calling; who was 'she'? I decided that this particular mystery could wait for another day while I tried to figure out where exactly I was. Some sort of office, clearly, but I didn't know where the office itself was. It didn't seem to belong in either a modern office building, and apartment, or a house. It was clearly an old building; nothing else really used this much wood, and it was probably somewhere private if nobody had called 911 yet. So I was in an old, private building.

_Great; that really narrowed it down. _I thought sarcastically. For a moment, I considered calling in some help, but I had nothing the draw him in, so I dismissed the idea.

_I need to get out of here_. I clenched my jaw as I forced myself to sit up. A fire burned in my ribs and arm and my head throbbed even harder, but I managed to get mostly upright. I waited to see if I was going to pass out again, but my eyes stayed focused and I didn't collapse. My mouth twisted into a half smile, half grimace at the pang of disappointment due to my lack of unconsciousness. If I wasn't awake, then I couldn't feel anything and I wouldn't have to do anything. I tried not to make a sound as I rose to my feet, but a small groan escaped.

I took a deep breath and concentrated on separating myself from the pain using a technique that Lea had taught me. It felt like having an out of body experience, of sorts. I was aware of the pain, but it didn't bother me as much. It felt like I was just sore after a hard workout instead of feeling like I'd gotten my ass kicked by a Sidhe and a troll. I could move without screaming. I scooped up my backpack, peeking inside to see if Bob was in fact inside. I caught a glimpse of white, and my shoulders sagged with relief.

Not only was Bob the most important resource I had, but he may be the only friend I had left. I don't want to consider what it says about me that the only person in the world that I still considered a friend wasn't even a person; he was an air spirit. I didn't call him up, though; I was trying to be quiet, and quiet wasn't Bob's forte. I smiled wryly as I zipped the bag and slung it over my good shoulder. Time to get moving.

I paused at the doorway, my hand on the handle. Where was I going, exactly? I needed to talk to Elaine, I knew that much, but I didn't even know where she would be now. Listens-to-Wind had probably found her by now and that meant she was surrounded by White Council. The White Council didn't exactly know about me or my past, and I doubted they'd approve. There was a reason I'd hidden who I really was from Elaine. That didn't really matter now, though; she knew I'd lied by now, even if she didn't know the extent of it. Even if that wasn't an issue, I had no hair or anything to make a tracking spell with, so talking to Elaine was out. Maybe I should go talk to Lea, try and straighten things out. Lea wasn't the most reasonable of creatures, though, and I had no way of finding her either. If she wanted to talk to me – or kill me – she'd just send somebody liked Gorsan after me again.

That train of thought made me furrow my brow. Michael had saved me from Gorsan. I hadn't sensed any magic about him, albeit my wizardly senses weren't exactly attuned at the time, but normal mortal didn't just battle trolls without blinking an eye, and that was exactly what Michael had done. Then again, I had felt some sort of power from him; it wasn't magic, though; at least not any kind of magic that I was familiar with. I could feel that same power in this place, though not as strong as it had been with Michael. It felt… warm, strong, steady. It felt like _faith_, something I hadn't felt in quite some time.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the sudden weight of exhaustion and sadness that almost overwhelmed me. It really was time to get moving. I would go to Mac's, I decided quickly. It was neutral territory, and I would have time to think while I was there. Even though I was two years under the legal drinking age, Mac let me eat there when I had the cash; he refused to sell me any of his legendary ale, though. I was still thinking about one of Mac's steak sandwiches when I started walking down the hall, so I didn't hear the sound of talking until it was too late. I exited the narrow hall and came into a… church? I was in a fucking _church? _I barely had time to register the dully gleaming pews and huge stained glass windows before I spotted the four of them.

Charity and Michael were sitting in on of the middle pews along with an old priest who was facing away from me and Sergeant Murphy had one legged propped up on the seat of the pew, writing in a notebook. The conversation stopped as soon as I entered the room, and they all turned to look at me. Michael and Charity looked surprised to see me up and moving, and Murphy's mouth pressed into a hard line. The old priest's face was mild and without expression, his robin's egg blue eyes soft and nonjudgmental.

My own motion stopped completely; I didn't know what to feel. Michael and Charity had helped me, the old man was a priest, and Sergeant Murphy was a cop; it wasn't like any of them were going to hurt me. Which may have been the problem; I didn't want to lie to any of them – I felt like I owed them, but I felt like I had to. The truth may set you free, but my truth may get them all tangled into a mess that wasn't theirs to unknot.

"Why don't you ask him, Sergeant?" The padre broke the frozen silence, his voice just as mild as his expression, but somehow comforting.

Murphy glanced down at the father and nodded brusquely before turning back to me.

"Mr. Dresden," she began, her voice cool and professional, but I didn't give her the opportunity to finish.

"Oh, look at the time," I tapped my watch-less wrist, "I really must be going." I tried to turn quickly, but my injured leg made the motion difficult, and it turned into some kind of spinning stumble, and I slammed into the wall.

_Smooth, Harry. _

I righted myself and started back down the hall, praying for a back exit, but I'd barely gone one step when a strong hand clamped down over one wrist. I gritted my teeth and turned to face whoever now held me back. Michael stared back at me, concern radiating from the lines of his face. I quickly dropped my eyes from his own warm brown ones, staring instead at his hand on my wrist.

"Thank you for all your help, but I have to go. Now. _Please._" I saw Michael hesitate at my desperate words, but he hung on. I tried to yank my arm away, but I was injured and exhausted, and I suspected he would've been stronger than me even if I were well rested and hadn't been beaten to a pulp.

"Son." I didn't stop trying to pull away. "Harry." His voice was more forceful this time and I stopped, looking down at his face. He may have been tall, but I still had a good four or five inches on him. "I don't know what sort of trouble you're in, but we can help you."

I wanted nothing more than to believe his earnest words, but I couldn't. Still, there was no way I could manage to run away. I closed my eyes and let my shoulders sag. "Who are you?" My voice was just barely audible.

"My name is Michael Carpenter, that's my wife, Charity," he motioned to Charity and she waved. "This is Sergeant Murphy; I believe you two have met before." Murphy didn't give his introduction any acknowledgment, and just stared at me. "And this, this is Father Forthill." The old priest with robin's egg eyes smiled warmly at me. "We're at St. Mary's of the Angels."

Well that answered the where, but still not the who. "That's not what I meant. _Who are you?_"

Michael nodded as though he expected me to repeat my question. "I am one of the three Knights of the Cross. I wield Amoracchius."

Now I really did freeze. I didn't know whether or not I should try running again. I'm not a religious man, but I can acknowledge the existence of _a _God. His apparent position certainly explained the power that I'd been feeling from him, too; it wasn't my kind of magic at all. He bore the magic of faith. I was unsure of where Knights of the Cross stood on the subject of wizards and magic, but I knew they disliked the Sidhe. Lea had talked about them before; she spoke of the power they wield and how badly she wanted on of their swords. Apparently the Swords could even the playing field between even the greatest of supernatural creatures, and that didn't sit too well with any of the high Sidhe, including my Godmother and the Winter Queen.

"Oh." I finally managed to choke out. Neither Charity nor Murphy had moved, and I doubted they could hear us.

With that sort of power, Michael might actually be able to help me, but I still felt uneasy. I was still unsure about the whole relationship between religion and magic, and I still didn't want to get him involved in my mess. He was a good man.

"Please, come talk to us." He pulled on my arm, and I followed dumbly. The wheels in my head were still spinning, trying to reassess the situation.

I didn't see any of them move, but suddenly I realized that Charity, Murphy, and Father Forthill had risen and now stood beside us near the front of the church. With all of them surrounding me, knowing I wouldn't be able to leave, I felt like I was trapped, despite their good intentions. After all, the road to hell is paved with them. Good intentions and telemarketers.

My eyes flickered back and forth nervously, and I suppressed the urge to lick my lips. I felt like I was on trial, especially with the cop present.

"Do you still 'not remember', Mr. Dresden?" It was the aforementioned cop that broke the heavy silence. I could tell she knew there was something fundamentally wrong here, but I doubted she knew the extent of it, or even any of it. Maybe Michael was more trusting than I was.

"How did you know too come here?" I ignored her question and countered with my own, staring up at the lights overhead. These were brighter than those in the office.

"This fell out of your pocket when you were in my truck." This time it was Michael that spoke, reaching into his own pocket to pull out the sergeant's card with his free hand – his other was still clamped over my arm. Funny, I didn't even remember picking up the card before I left; let alone putting it in the pocket of my borrowed scrubs.

"Oh."

"Harry – do you mind if I call you Harry?" I didn't look up from the card as Charity spoke and only nodded dumbly. "Harry, we only want to help."

I don't know what they expected to happen. Did they think I would just blurt out all my secrets because they took me to a church for a nap? All I knew was that people kept trying to help me, and none of it did any good. I was still in the same position as I had been before.

As my frustrations boiled to the surface, so did my magic. I hadn't been blowing out things left and right at the hospital because I was drugged and exhausted, but now I was merely exhausted, and the exhaustion was actually making my feelings of frustration stronger. One of the overhead lights exploded in a shower of sparks and glass as I crumpled the card in my hand, and Sergeant Murphy yelped at the small explosion in her pocket, smoke streaming out. Michael let go of my arm and jumped away from the falling shards. I stayed where I was, ignoring the slight sting as tiny glass splinters brushed my cheeks and caught in my arm hair.

"I. Don't. Want. Your. Help." I spat out through clenched teeth, raising my eyes to examine the seen before me. Charity was staring at me wide-eyed with Michael standing defensively in front of her. The sergeant was trying to beat out the small fire that had caught on her gray slacks while Father Forthill just stared at me with his arms crossed and his lips pursed.

"Sergeant, if you would excuse us," Michael's voice was steely and cold, his eyes locked firmly on me. Even in my irrational anger, I remembered to keep my eyes away from his, glaring at his eyebrows instead.

"Like hell," Sergeant Murphy growled, having finally put out the pocket fire. "What the hell just happened?"

Michael's eyes flickered over to Father Forthill, who nodded in response.

"Miss Murphy, Michael, Charity, Mr. Dresden, and I will be going back into my office. Thank you for your assistance, but my office is not public property. You're welcome to stay if you wish, though." Though the padre's voice was warm and friendly, I could detect an edge to it.

The sergeant's nostrils flared and her blue eyes blazed, but she had no reason to arrest anybody and no excuse to follow us into the office, so she nodded brusquely and stalked back over to where she'd apparently thrown her jacket and notebook earlier.

Nobody moved, even after the tiny blonde cop had slammed the door to the church, the loud bang echoing in the empty hall. I doubted I could fight off Michael if he decided to do something, but for some reason he looked wary of me. Almost like he expected me to hurt him; had he realized what I was? Had they all? That must be it; Forthill and Charity's faces held the same suspicious and anxious expression as of the larger man's.

"Afraid of little 'ole me?"

"With good reason," Michael's voice was serious; he didn't get that I had been joking.

"It was a joke." Now my voice was deadpan. Silence settled over the room once more. "What now?" I had to break the silence; it was suffocating me.

"The truth might be nice," Forthill answered me this time. "Add the exploding light bulb and cellphone to that rune covered rod you have, and it's pretty clear that you have at least some magical talent."

My mind raced. "Only some. I can perform a few party tricks for a buck or two." I went with the same old lie

_It worked with Elaine_, I thought bitterly.

"Oh, my dear Harry, I do think you're underselling yourself quite a bit."

Oh _shit._

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up; I had three projects due last week. **

**Seriously though, to anybody who reviewed, I love you guys. You make my day. To those who didn't, I hope you step on a Lego - that shit hurts. Even if you guys don't like the story, I want some feedback. Feel free to tell me my writing sucks ass, though constructive criticism is much more appreciated.**_  
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	4. I Got in a Fist Fight with a Faerie

_"Miss Murphy, Michael, Charity, Mr. Dresden, and I will be going back into my office. Thank you for your assistance, but my office is not public property. You're welcome to stay if you wish, though." Though the padre's voice was warm and friendly, I could detect an edge to it._

_The sergeant's nostrils flared and her blue eyes blazed, but she had no reason to arrest anybody and no excuse to follow us into the office._

_"Yes, Father." Her tone was carefully respectful, though there was an undercurrent of anger. Then she looked back at me, blue fire in her eyes. "You still have my number, Mister Dresden. Call if you remember anything."_

_She stalked back over to wear she'd thrown her suit jacket and notebook earlier, casually slipping it into her pocket as she simultaneously slung the jacket over her shoulders. I felt a vague sense of amusement as the black patch on her pants from what I assumed to be a cell phone fire._

_Sergeant Murphy paused at the large oak doors, calling over her shoulder, "I do believe that the hospital was asking after you, Mister Dresden. Something about unpaid bills?"_

_Nobody moved, even after the tiny blonde cop had slammed the doors to the church, the loud bang echoing in the empty hall. I doubted I could fight off Michael if he decided to do something, but for some reason he looked wary of me. Almost like he expected me to hurt him; had he realized what I was? Had they all? That must be it; Forthill and Charity's faces held the same suspicious and anxious expression as of the larger man's._

_"Afraid of little 'ole me?"_

_"With good reason," Michael's voice was serious; he didn't get that I had been joking._

_"It was a joke." Now my voice was deadpan. Silence settled over the room once more. "What now?" I had to break the silence; it was suffocating me._

_"The truth might be nice," Forthill answered me this time. "Add the exploding light bulb and cellphone to that rune covered rod you have, and it's pretty clear that you have at least some magical talent."_

_My mind raced. "Only some. I can perform a few party tricks for a buck or two." I went with the same old lie._

_It worked with Elaine, I thought bitterly._

_"Oh, my dear Harry, I do think you're underselling yourself quite a bit."_

_Oh shit._

The sultry voice came from beside me, whispering in my ear. A chill spread over my body, and I could feel the frost in my hair. One cold finger trailed up my arm, goosebumps covered my skin.

"Maeve." My voice came out significantly steadier than I felt at the moment.

Michael was standing in front of Forthill and his wife, determination and caution and confusion warring on the lines of his face. His brown eyes flickered back and forth between the Winter Lady and me.

"Care to introduce me to your new friends?" Maeve practically purred, nipping at the skin of my ear. I barely suppressed a flinch at the freezing sensation of her mouth.

I ground my teeth. "What do you want, Maeve?" I drew away from her, turning to meet her eyes.

I had no fear of a soulgaze with her; faeries had no souls. Her skin was the whitest of whites, with mulberry lips and cat green eyes. Her hair was bound into dread locks, colored all the shades of winter. She was barely decent, with a cut off tight navy blue shirt and even tighter white leather pants with slits up the outside of the legs. Maeve was the spitting image of her mother, Mab, only younger and more blatantly sexual. Mab was much more subtle.

Those mulberry lips curled into a smile devoid of any pleasure; it looked more like she was considering a delicious meal. I swallowed hard, fighting equal portions of anger and fear. If you know anything of the Fae, especially their Queens, then you would understand. The only positive of this situation was that it was Maeve, and not her mother, Mab. That was a truly frightening faerie.

"You never were very subtle or patient, now were you, Harry?" Her voice seemed to caress my name, but I only smile sardonically back at her.

"I learned from you, my Lady." I gave a sarcastic bow, ignoring my screaming body as I bent over. "Now, what do you want?"

Her feline eyes blazed with anger at me as I straightened, but the green flames quickly died, replaced by wicked amusement. "From you, I want many things." She leaned in close to me, brushing the tips of her breasts against my thin shirt. She reached up with one hand to stroke the bloody bandages on my broken forearm, bringing cold fire instead of a more welcome numbness.

I inhaled sharply, still fighting against the pain. "Don't make me ask again. Third time's the charm."

Maeve leaned back, her mouth set in a pout, but her eyes were lit with some twisted amusement. "Ah, Harry, you grow bold. But not too bold." One corner of her mouth twisted upwards. "I am here of behalf of the Leandasidhe, and I mean you no ill will. She wishes to speak to you on neutral territory." Her voice took on a formal note, but didn't completely abandon the slight sexual undercurrent.

I frowned, considering this new information. Lea wanted to speak to me on neutral territory, and that meant neither of would end up dead. At least, not so long as we stayed in the neutral territory. Still, this meant that Lea did not particularly wish for my death.

"Why did she send you?" I asked.

"Because she knew you would either try to flee on sight or attack, and I was indebted to the Leandaside for past actions," Maeve replied, her voice bored. She reached up with one hand to twist a pale violet dreadlock around one long white finger.

Maeve was indebted to Lea; interesting. Still, I let out a breath that I hadn't even realized I was holding. "Alright. Tomorrow at noon at Mac's." Mac's pub was the only official neutral territory that I knew of in Chicago. Plus, I loved his steak.

Maeve nodded, unwinding her hair from her finger. "I'll convey your message to you Godmother." She turned to go. "Don't be late," she threw over her shoulder before opening a door to the Nevernever. I was always humbled when I saw a faerie open a Way; they made my one doors look like a five-year-old had done it. I blinked once, and she was gone, the Way closed behind her.

I sagged into the pew next to me, depending on my one good arm to prop me up on the back of the heavy wooden seat. My balance was unsteady, and my wounds throbbed even harder than before. I felt my vision tunneling, and my breathing was shallow. The slight adrenaline rush that the fear of seeing Maeve had given me was taking its toll.

"Know the Winter Lady, do you?" Michael's strong baritone broke the silence; I almost fell over. I'd forgotten they were even here. My eyes snapped up; Michael was still standing defensively in front of Charity, but Forthill had moved out to stand beside him. All three of them were staring at me, their eyes guarded.

I nodded heavily, closing my eyes as I sank into the pew. I rubbed at my face with one hand, feeling the scratch of my stumble against the palm of my hand. "Unfortunately, yes." I was too tired and shaken up to wonder how they knew she was the Winter Lady, and why they weren't screaming about magical doors. Perhaps in his role as the Fist of God, Michael had chosen to be much more open about his experiences to his loved ones than I had. Smart man.

I heard Forthill mutter something and then the sound of footsteps. He was gone when I reopened my eyes. Michael still looked wary, but Charity no longer stood beside him. She stood next to him instead, her arms crossed as she stared down at me. I looked down at my hand; dried blood dusted over my fingertips. I brushed it against my blue scrub pants; it was dried anyway.

"Care to explain, son?" Michael spoke again, his tone making it sound like more of a command then a question. I was too tired and afraid and in too much pain to even be defiant anymore.

"Not really, but I think I'll have to. Can't be too happy about having your church invaded by a crazy faerie, can you?" My pitiful attempt at a joke fell flat. I didn't want to tell them, but I didn't see a way not to now. I could always lie, but I was very bad at fully fledged lies, and I was too tried to even try and dance around the question in the way of the Sidhe. It wasn't like I could just leave, either; I could barely sit up straight at this point. Also… I wanted help. It bothered me to admit it, even to myself, but I truly, desperately wanted somebody to help me.

Michael leveled me a gaze.

I sighed. "What do you want to know exactly?"

Charity unfolded her arms and met her husband's eyes, having a silent conversation. Michael nodded. My heart twinged painfully at their obvious closeness.

"How old are you, Harry?" Michael asked, his deep voice carefully neutral.

I frowned. "I'm nineteen years old, though I don't really know why that matters."

Michael only nodded at me, his arms crossed. "You're awfully young to be involved in the business of the Sidhe."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Man, I've been involved with the faeries since I was born, and I always will be – whether I like it or not."

Charity and Michael looked at each other again, clearly confused. I didn't elaborate, though; that particular bit of information was too personal.

This time it was Charity who spoke, her voice concerned. "What happened to you?" She gestured vaguely towards me. "Michael told me about the troll in the alleyway, but you were hurt before that."

"I got in a fist fight with the Leandasidhe." I deadpanned. No matter how much I wanted their help, I didn't want to go into full detail. It hurt me to think about it, let alone talk about it.

Michael's eyes widened, and Charity let her arm fall. "She's one of the highest Fae in Winter, second only to the Queens, correct?" Michael breathed out, his voice colored with disbelief, and I nodded slightly, letting my head fall against the pew. "And you got into a fist fight with her? And lived?"

"I could be offended by that tone, you know."

"I thought you were only a small time practitioner?" He countered.

I barked out a short laugh, instantly regretting it as my broken ribs burned with the motion. "True enough. I have a question for you, though."

Michael still looked a little shell shocked, but nodded.

"I know you're a Knight of the Cross – you just told me – but how often do you come across things like the Sidhe that you know who the Leandasidhe is? She's not nearly as popular in literature as say Mab or Titania." I was honestly curious, but I couldn't manage to interject my voice with any inflection. Also, I wanted to distract him from Maeve's 'godmother' comment.

"I've come across many things, including the Fae and even a dragon." I blinked in shock, but his voice was level. It wasn't as though he was trying to show off; it was like he actually didn't think much of it.

"Damn." I'm a master of witty repartee.

"Don't curse." Charity's blue eyes stared down at me disapprovingly, but I kept my own eyes of her frowning lips.

I was tempted to raise my hands in surrender, but thought the better of it. "Darn. Better?"

"God save us from teenagers." Michael and Charity both shook their heads at me, but small smiles played at the corners of their mouths. Maybe they had children.

"Moving on, though," Michael continued. "Might I inquire as to the Winter Lady's 'godmother' comment?" My oh so clever evasion tactics seem to have failed.

"The Leandasidhe is my Godmother, yes. My mother chose her," my voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at their faces and paused, but nobody spoke, so I stopped. Two days ago, I had liked Lea, perhaps even loved her. She'd been the only constant in my life since I was 10 years old, and that meant something to me. Her teaching methods had not been kind, but at least she had been there to teach me. I had never been very clear as to my feelings concerning Lea, but the past few days had muddled them even further.

I'd just been so _angry_.

"This situation isn't a simple one, is it?" Charity sounded tired, almost as tired as I felt.

A bitter smile twisted my mouth. "Of course not, I have shi- bad luck."

"Son, I –" Michael began, but stopped at the sound of footsteps.

I reopened my eyes to see Father Forthill standing beside them once again, a small tray in hand. It was loaded with at least three different kinds of sandwiches that I could see, as well as a steaming bowl and a clear glass of water. My stomach decidedly to loudly inform the entire room that I hadn't eaten in almost two days, the rumble echoing in the nearly empty hall. I blinked down at my middle, amazed that it could be that loud. I hadn't even realized how hungry I was; the drugs and pain and questions were very distracting.

I looked up when the father let out a quiet chuckle. Michael and Charity started to laugh a bit too when they saw my face. I blinked at them all again, right hand over my rumbling belly.

"When's the last time you ate, son?" The Father asked, still chuckling slightly.

I rubbed at the back of my head with my unbroken arm, wincing as I brushed the grapefruit sized lump above my ear. "Two days, maybe?"

He set the tray down on the pew beside me, and I saw that the bowl was filled with chicken noodle soup. My mouth watered, and for a moment I was worried I was about to start drooling.

"Eat up. Don't be shy."

He didn't need to tell me twice. I fell upon the tray like a stray dog; within moments, there was nothing but crumbs and an empty bowl left on the tray. My stomach stretched comfortably with food; those had been some fantastic sandwiches.

I looked up to see all three of them staring at me and the empty tray with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"But… where does it all go?" Charity asked, baffled.

My eyes drooped heavily and I smiled up lazily at the ceiling of the church. "Up. I may not be wide, but I need enough food for almost seven feet."

"Son, do you have a place to stay?" I looked up at Michael, who was having another silent conversation with his wife.

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" Michael cocked one eyebrow at me.

"My current landlord's being investigated by the cops for dealing drugs. My apartment complex isn't exactly in the friendliest part of town." I sighed. Odd jobs and the occasional magic trick on the street don't make for a steady salary.

"You'll stay at our home tonight, then," Charity's tone left little room for discussion.

I blinked up at the husband and wife, Father Forthill smiling kindly behind them. I bowed my head and stared down at my hands, one dirty and scratched the other wrapped in filthy, bloody bandages, the tip of a metal splint poking through a torn edge.

"Thank you," my voice was thick; these people were being kinder to me than I deserved, especially given my distrust of them.

"Think nothing of it," I could hear the smile in Michael's voice.

I looked up when I saw my backpack snatched out of the corner of my eyes; Michael had slung it over one shoulder. Charity held out one hand and I gripped it with my good arm, allowing her to heave me to my feet. I felt a vague sense of chagrin that I needed the help, but it was quickly replaced with a desperate need for painkillers as my weight fell heavily on my wounded thigh and sore muscles.

"This is the number for the church," Forthill said, grabbing my hand to place a scrap of paper in it after Charity released it. "Just in case," he added with a smile.

"Thank you," I repeated.

With that, Charity, Michael and I began the short walk to the doors. The sound of our footsteps echoed slightly.

A thought occurred to me just as we reached the exit. "Do you mind if we stop by my apartment first though? I think a change of clothes might be in order." I gestured at my bloody and ripped scrubs.

"And a bath," Charity tacked on. "Definitely a bath."

**I'm not sure why this took so long to write; I know exactly how I want the story to go.  
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**To those of you who reviewed, you guys made my day. :D To those of you who didn't - I don't like you either. **

**If anything seems unclear in the plot, let me know. I have this whole separate world in my head just for this story, so I don't really notice when I leave things out. (x**


	5. I Need a New Apartment

_A thought occurred to me just as we reached the exit. "Do you mind if we stop by my apartment first though? I think a change of clothes might be in order." I gestured at my bloody and ripped scrubs._

_"And a bath," Charity tacked on. "Definitely a bath."_

When we got into the cab of Michael's truck, silence fell over our small group. Charity sat in the front with her husband while I lounged in the back, my backpack serving as a pillow. My heart twinged again when I noticed their hands clasped over the console, his large dark hand nearly swallowing her smaller, paler one.

The only time we spoke was when Michael asked for the address, and I gave it to him. I spent majority of the drive staring out of the window, watching the world rush by. I could see the blurred figures of people as they wandered in the dusky light of the Chicago sunset. I wondered where they were going, who they were, what kind of lives they led.

I don't know when exactly I fell asleep, but I was no longer in the warm cab of Michael's pick-up truck; I was dreaming.

I ran my hand over the leather bound books, breathing in the distinct smell of their old pages. I had been a regular at Bock Ordered Books for some time now; though Lea favored the hands-on approach, I still had to do some research. Also, I enjoyed reading the different books. Bock thought nothing of letting me into the Cage, which contained the more interesting choices. I rarely bought one of the books, but I liked to browse through them whenever I came by.

Today, though, I was in need of a certain text; I'd sort of accidentally set my copy of _Elementary Magic _on fire. Though Lea was done officially teaching me - she'd fulfilled her bargain to my mother – I knew I still had some ways to go when it came to magic. I really didn't need _Elementary Magic, _but I liked knowing that I had it, just in case. It just taught the basics of wizadry, really. I knew it was silly of me to go wasting what little money I had on a textbook for amateurs, but… I couldn't help myself. Almost every other magical text I'd read was intricately bound with some sort of religion. _Elementary Magic_ was the exception. I was curious about its author, as well – Ebenezer McCoy. I'd asked Lea about him when I first got the book; she only laughed and said he was White Council. There was something in her eye, though, that made me think she knew more than she was telling. That was almost always the case with the Fae, though.

I stopped when I spotted the worn book; it sat on the top shelf, the golden embossed letters faded with age. I took it down gently, my fingers almost caressing the spine and cover. I had a special affinity for books; often the life they offered me was better than the one I was actually living. I considered them all to be an escape, even textbooks for amateurs.

I turned to go, my eyes still on the dark leather book, only to find myself crashing into another person. Both of our books crashed to the ground, and I fell straight on my ass; as a rather tall man, my center of gravity was forever causing me problems. I knocked my head on the corner of one of the many bookcases, pain blossoming in the back of my head.

_Of course, _I grumbled to myself.

I blinked away the tears that had sprung to my eyes to see the person I'd run into. She was also sprawled on the floor, rubbing at one elbow. She lifted her head to look at me ruefully, and I was struck by her beauty. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds and were framed by a thick fringe of dark lashes. Her dirty blonde hair fell straight to her waist, layers framing her oval face. A faint blush colored her delicate cheeks.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was clear and strong, and I blinked dumbly at her. "Are you alright?" She repeated again, slower this time.

_Great; nice going, Harry. Now she thinks you're slow. _

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," I managed to force out, lifting myself to my feet. "Are you okay, though?" I asked, extending my hand.

She gripped it; her hand was soft and warm. She smiled at me and brushed her hair from her face. As she stood, I noticed that she was quite tall for a woman; probably around five-foot-ten. She was thin, too, but attractively so. There was a hint of a curve at both her hip and breasts. A dark red sweater covered her top, paired tight blue jeans and gray sneakers.

"I'm Elaine," She spoke again, still smiling at me. Before I knew it, I felt a grin forming at the corners of my lips. Her smile was contagious.

"Harry," I replied, still grasping her hand. I bent in a bow, folding my spare arm beneath me and brushing the back of her hand with my lips. "It is my honor to run into you this lovely Chicago afternoon."

She let out a peal of laughter, and a wave of relief washed over me. I was not normally so confident around women. I hadn't even expected myself to do that.

"A gentleman; how lovely," I raised my head, a mischievous grin still on my face. She smirked back at me and bent in a curtsy, even lifting a pretend skirt. "And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Harry."

I barked out a short laugh and straightened, but my hand still held hers. "And might I ask what such a lovely young lady is doing here today?"

"I," she bent to pick up the book she'd dropped, but didn't try to pull away from my hand, "am doing research."

I noticed that she wasn't trying to meet my eyes; her own were focused between them, around my nose. _Was she a practitioner, too?_

"Research, eh?" I raised one eyebrow. "Is it purely intellectual or for more practical purposes?"

Now she did release my hand. Her eyes turned slightly suspicious for a moment, but then the twinkle came back and she laughed. "Are you a practitioner, too?"

"You read my mind." When I actually answered her question, I didn't even hesitate to consider my reply. "Not a real one. I can do party tricks," I leaned in conspiratorially. "Sometimes I can even light a candle from across the room."

I'm still not exactly sure why I lied. I've tried to rationalize it many times – I was suspicious, I was afraid, I was being cautious. Truth be told, though, I honestly don't know what compelled me to just flat out lie to her. I always meant to tell her the truth, but the more I learned about Elaine, the less I wanted to. Her life was already hard enough, and so was mine.

She let out another musical laugh, and her gray eyes danced. "I can do a little more than that."

I could tell. Now that I was paying attention, I could feel her aura around me. I doubted she could feel mine, though. A year or two ago, Lea had _encouraged_ me to find a way to suppress it. Through trial and error and some decidedly painful direction from my Godmother, I'd come up with a rather effective incantation. I'd inscribed the spell onto a leather bracelet so I wouldn't have to cast it every time. It now hung on my wrist beside my shield bracelet.

"Care to show me sometime?" I smiled at her again, leaning against the same bookcase that I'd knocked my head against earlier.

Suddenly the scene changed, and the warmth of the bookstore chilled me to the bone. The amber dust motes changed to swirling white snowflakes. My breath burned as I inhaled, the cold seeping into my lungs.

"Again!" A voice shouted at me.

I automatically started to pull up a shield, but I didn't have enough time or energy to get it to full strength before a blast of ice slammed into my chest, hurling me backwards. I bit my tongue as I landed, tasting the metallic blood in my mouth. I struggled to pull in another breath.

"Impudent boy." The musical voice was scornful. A figure came into view; she was tall and lovely beyond imagining. Her red curls fell past her hips, and she was just barely covered by an emerald gown, jewels glittering at the hem. Her smooth white skin almost blended in with the snow, but it made her cherry red lips all the brighter. Bright green eyes stared down at me, feline rather than human. She knelt beside me in the snow and whispered in my ear. "Oh my dear, impudent boy. You are strong, so very strong, but you must be _stronger._"

Her breath was even colder than the snow, and I shivered even harder. Cold fingers drifted over my torso, and when she raised her hand, her fingertips were colored red, my blood dripping from them. The difference between the scarlet of my blood and the snowy white skin of her hand was almost shocking.

"This," she breathed out, an almost sexual light in her eyes. "This is your humanity. _This _will be the end of you." She drew her bloody fingers across my shoulder, wiping it away. I shuddered beneath her touch, my breath coming out in ragged, painful gasps. "We're done… for now." Her blood red lips curled.

_Harry. _My shoulders shook, and Lea stood, smiling a Cheshire cat smile.

_Harry. _The snow blew harder, obscuring her from view. My shoulders shook once again, and I closed my eyes.

_HARRY. _My shoulders shook even harder, and I ripped open my eyes, gasping painfully. Looking back at me was the very human gaze of Charity.

"Harry, we're here." I felt the beginnings of a soul gaze and quickly looked away from her concerned stare to her eyebrows. I reach up and rubbed at my face with my good arm.

"Where is here exactly?" My voice was groggy and slurred, my mind still caught in the dream. I could feel Lea's breath in my ear, and my fingers tingled where they had held Elaine's.

Her brow furrowed even deeper. "Your apartment complex. You fell asleep on the drive; I think you were dreaming."

I blinked several times, my memory returning to me. My ear still felt cold, though, and I could still feel the warmth of Elaine's grasp. "Oh. Yeah." I sat up slowly, trying to prevent a head rush. "Tell me I didn't start twitching like a dog, at least."

My attempt at head-rush-prevention failed, but I could still see Charity's slight smile at my bad joke. I shook my head once to clear it, but instantly regretted it; that knot on my head was still causing problems. Charity offered me her hand, and I slid out of the truck. She held my backpack in her other hand, and I took it from her.

I looked around the twilit lot. There were only two other cars parked, and one of them was a police cruiser. The officer inside was clearly at the end of his shift, though; I could see him dozing against the driver's side window. The complex was obviously not a friendly one; there was graffiti on the brick walls and cracks in the asphalt. It was all I could afford, though; my money was already stretched. The night was warm for September in Chicago, but the breeze still made me shiver through my bloodstained scrubs.

I turned back to the car; Charity had already climbed back into the heated cab. Michael had never gotten out and still sat behind the wheel. The passenger side window rolled down and Charity poked her blonde head out.

"We'll wait here for you. You can shower at our home; I'd rather not stay here for long." At that last statement her eyes shifted over the dingy lot suspiciously. I had to suppress a bout of laughter at her expression; I knew she was right to be wary, but there was a cop sitting a few parking spots away, even if he was sleepy. Instead I nodded at them.

"Thank you. I'll try not to take too long."

I shifted the pack on my shoulders as I crossed the lot, my thoughts still muddled from the dream. I shook my head to try and clear it; I would have time to interpret dreams of the past later. I would think of less painful and more pressing matters for now, like the present. I listed the issues in my head as I walked, a breeze stirring my hair.

1 - I doubted I was in any mortal peril anymore, but I wasn't entirely sure. Godmother wanting to talk on neutral ground was a good sign, but the Fae almost never made any sense.

2 - Michael and Charity were being incredibly kind, and I couldn't help but be suspicious of them and their motivations. In my own experience, nobody is good or kind to you unless they expect something in return. There was an exception to every rule, though, I suppose.

3 - I still didn't know how Elaine was. Though I knew her death was a very real possibility, I refused to accept it. I would feel _something_ if she were truly gone; I didn't know what it was, but somehow I knew that that moment Elaine died, I would realize it. Either way, I was about to find out. I mentally steeled myself against the horrifying mental image that the thought conjured up, and quickly shied away from it. _Elaine is alive. Elaine is alive. Elaine is alive._

Still mentally repeating my new montage, I was almost jogging as I reached the front door. Standing in the lobby, I saw that it was deserted aside from the yellow caution tape that cordoned off one hallway. The police were still here, then. Lucky for me and my battered body, my apartment was on the first floor. Even better, it was not down the restricted hall, so I could still actually get to it. I shook my head again, ignoring my throbbing headache. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling suspicious for some reason, as I turned to the right and away from the police tape.

I forgot about the state of my home until I reach the door to my small apartment. The numbers were falling off and a crack had formed down the middle of the wooden door. Remembering what waited inside, I was honestly surprised that the police hadn't cordoned _this _off as a crime scene. My heart lifted a little when I realized what exactly it meant that they hadn't. Still, I was cautious as I twisted the doorknob; I hadn't locked it after my rather hurried exit.

The front room was a wreck. My couch was overturned and the wooden coffee table in the center was reduced to splinters. The bookcase in the corner had been overturned and hundreds of paperbacks littered the floor along with the ruined pages of my dozens of magical notebooks. The white and black pages were splattered with dried blood here and there. I saw a metallic sheen coming from the corner nearest the little kitchen nook, the remnants of my weapon against Lea.

But there was no body.

_Elaine is alive_.

I inhaled unsteadily, licking my lips. Relief flooded over my weary body.

_Elaine is alive_.

I felt as though a veil had been lifted from my thoughts; they had been clouded, and I hadn't even realized it. Now that Elaine's death wasn't on my conscious I could think clearly again. My overwhelming relief at Elaine's survival was marred by the realization that it also meant that the White Council would likely want to have a conversation with me.

What little I did know about the Council came from mocking comments from Lea and forgetful remarks made by Elaine. Though I knew Bob had had previous owners, likely White Council wizards, I'd never asked him about his past or the Council. He'd never mentioned it, and I'd never thought it prudent to order him to tell me. I knew the Seven Laws of Magic, of course, but people –and faeries – did not speak of the Council lightly. It was known for its secrecy and harsh punishments, if nothing else. I knew that, if I wanted, I would be able to join the Council; I had enough natural power and studying under one of the high Sidhe for over five years had taught me more discipline and fine control than I would otherwise possess. It wasn't ability that kept me from approaching them. No, it was mostly my own mistrust.

Wizards and faeries are notorious for their mutual dislike of one another; a fae-trained wizard had never existed before me, so far as I knew. I would automatically be distrusted by every wizard on the Council for that reason alone, not to mention that my mother, Margaret LeFay, was some sort of magical rebel. I still don't know the detail of that situation. Also, I've never seen reason to seek them out; I didn't need their help, and I didn't care if they needed mine. So, by reason of paranoia and some sort of lone-wolf-syndrome, I have avoided the official notice of the ruling body of the mortal magical world. Even going so far as to lie to the only woman I may have ever loved.

My heart twisted in my chest, and it was painful to breathe for a moment. I shook my head, trying to focus again.

Clothes. Right.

I started to walk towards my bedroom, careful to step around the shards of glass in my socked feet.

"Firetrucks in a fridge!" I shouted out, having stubbed my toe on something rather solid. I fell over, landing straight on my ass, and a fresh wave of pain swept over me as I crashed onto the hard wooden floor. "I… need a… new… apart… ment." I panted out, leaning against the wall now.

I waited a moment for the pain to recede, and then leaned over to see what I had stubbed my toe on. It was a stack of book almost a foot tall; _La Literatura Clásica Española y Autores _and _Classica Letteratura e Cultura Italiana_ and _Understanding Human Behavior and the Social Environment _and_ Publication Manuel of the American Psychological Association. _

Oh. Yeah. I knew I had been forgetting something. I felt a new weight settle over my shoulder; more welcome than guilt over Elaine's death, but still unwanted. College. I'd been a student at the University of Chicago for just over a year now and had just decided what I was majoring and minoring in - Psychology and Romance Languages and Literature, respectively. Dispite the name, the language class had very little to do with anything romantic.

If I were being completely honest with myself, I knew that the main reason I had been admitted into the university was because of my rather pitiful background, but even with the aid of the guilt of the rich, I wouldn't have gotten in if I hadn't at least _tried_. Despite all appearances, I was not a complete dumbass.

"Ugh," I complained as I heaved myself to my feet and picked my bag off of the floor. "I'll come back for you later."

I paused as I was walking to the bedroom door, "Talking to myself can't be very healthy; maybe I hit my head harder than I thought."

For some reason, that was hilarious to me, and I burst into laughter. I kept laughing until tears rolled from my eyes and my poor ribs were on fire and my abs ached. "Oh God, there's something wrong with me." I breathed out, brushing the tears away. "But I really needed that."

I got up off my doorway and pushed open the door. The bedroom wasn't nearly as bad as the living room; it was just the normal college kid/bachelor's mess. Clothes littered the dingy carpet, a light scattering of pencils and crumpled notebook papers covering the bare spots in between. The unmade twin sized bed was wedged into the corner beside the small dresser, which was almost covered with notebooks and pens. A broken A/C unit was wedged in the only window in the entire apartment. Magic and electronics had never mixed very well.

I almost moaned in relief as I let myself collapse on top of the mess of sheets on the tiny bed. I ignored the slight pain in my gut where my sneakers dug in. My legs hung off the end at an uncomfortable angle and my ribs ached painfully, but I hadn't landed on my thoroughly broken arm and I was finally off of my sliced leg. I only let myself lay in blissful relaxation for a moment before I rolled over to start packing. As I turned over, I realized that the already torn stiches on my leg had ripped once again; fresh blood had partially soaked through my blue scrubs. That cut had to be reasonably deep. I briefly wondered how I hadn't realized that it was bleeding earlier, but quickly reasoned that it would be nearly impossible to pick that one particular pain out of the mass of bruises and stitches and bandages that had once been my body.

I hissed as I drew myself up into a sitting position. I managed to awkwardly unzip my backpack, and unceremoniously dumped its contents onto my bed. Bob's skull and my blasting rod rolled out with a muffled thud along with the rustle of my nylon jacket and the chink of the metal shield bracelet and it contained.

"Bob."

The skull rolled itself over, and the glowing orange eye sockets managed to look cross. "Do you know how long I've been in there?"

I sighed. "Awhile. I'm sorry. I met a Knight of the Cross, if that's any consolation." Bob had a thing for interesting stories and new information, part of being a spirit of knowledge, I suppose.

He instantly managed to alter his bony features into an expression of vaguely concealed interest. "Did you now?"

I nodded. "Yes. He has _Amoracchius." _

"The Sword of Love?" Bob didn't try to hide his interest any longer, and his former bad mood had been erased by the possibility of attaining new information. "Find out anything that might interest an old lab assistant?"

Now I made a face, turning away from Bob's earnest voice. "Not exactly." I continued quickly, before he could interrupt. "But I'm going over to his house. I could ask him a few things for you."

He closed his bony mouth, considering. I was well aware that Bob probably already knew the answers to any question I could ask him, but perhaps Bob could think of a few of his own. It was unlikely, though, that there was anything Michael could tell me that Bob did not already know. He was a spirit of _knowledge, _after all. The only thing I suspected Michael would be able to tell Bob that he wasn't already aware of was right vs. wrong, but Bob had never been very clear on the difference between Good and Evil; he had no reason to care.

The train of thought led me to ponder my own morality while Bob considered his queries for the Knight. I doubted I could be considered not a good man, and I had the potential to be a very, very bad man. But I didn't think that I was necessarily bad, either. Even bad men do good things, and even good men do bad things.

"Ask him how exactly how the wielder of a sword is chosen." Bob suddenly said. "There is precious little known about the past owners of the Swords of the Cross, other than Merlin was once a guardian of one."

I blinked at this. "You mean the Merlin of the White Council?"

"No, I mean _the _Merlin. The orginal."

"Oh." I paused for a moment. "Hey, Bob?"

"Harry," he replied, his dry voice cautious.

"Who had you before I did? Other than Lea I mean."

He paused for a moment. "A man named Justin DuMorne."

I froze, recognizing the name. "He's the one who enthralled Elaine before the Council got to them."

"Yes."

"Did you help him?" My voice wasn't angry. It was just cold. Cold as ice.

I could almost imagine Bob shrugging. "I am what I am. He was not a good man, though, Harry."

"Tell me this, at least. I won't order you, though. Is Justin really dead, like the Council told Elaine?"

The tension made the air almost too thick to breathe. I felt a vague sense of anger in my belly, but it wasn't nearly as strong as I would've though. It was as though my emotions were all hidden ehind frosted glass. I couldn't quite make them out.

"I don't know." Bob's tired response finally came. "I really, truly do not know if Justin DuMorne is still alive. They never found his body."

I couldn't think of anything to say. "Oh."

For a while I just sat there, and silence fell over us. I wasn't thinking, really. Just... sitting. Then:

"Tell me about the White Council."

He narrowed his eye sockets inquisitively at me, but was clearly glad for the change of topic. "You've never asked about them before."

I shrugged. "They didn't seem incredibly important. I haven't broken any of the Laws, and I was off their radar. The latter may have changed, though."

If he could've rolled his eyes, I suspected Bob would have. "Oh really?" came the sarcastic response. "I thought they would just ignore you after the apprentice of a Senior Council member got the stuffing beat out of her in your apartment."

I expected to feel rage rise in my chest, but it didn't. My emotions were still hidden behind that frosted glass. Instead I just glared at my bony assistant. "Just tell me."

"Your wish is my command, sahib." He paused for a moment, almost as though he was inhaling before a long speech. "The White Council has been around almost as long as I have, and is largely regarded as the ruling body of the mortal magic world. They are signatories of the Unseelie Accords. It mostly consists of academic types, though. The ones that people are really afraid of are the Wardens – these guys specialize in some seriously badass battle magic. You might be able to take some of the younger ones, but even with your strength and rather unconventional training, the older ones would kick your skinny wizard's butt up and down the streets of our fair Windy City. You also have the Senior Council; they're like the government's government. The youngest member was about 130 years old, give or take a decade. Then there's the main man – the Merlin. This guy has to be a serious magical contender; he would make you look like you were still three. The current Merlin is Arthur Langtry. And that's the short version."

I fell back on the bed, my legs still dangling off the edge. "I feel like I'm fucked. Completely, unavoidably fucked."

Bob snorted – another impressive feat from a being that was quite literally just bones. "You are."

I closed my eyes and waited for the panic to come, or even resignation, but it didn't. There really wasn't anything. Elaine was alive; there was nothing left to avenge. I really didn't have anything to fight for anymore. "I never told her, you know."

"Um, what?"

I reopened my eyes and sat up, leaning on my knees. "I never told Elaine I loved her. And I did – I do." I stared at my hands. No tears fell. No emotion welled up inside me. My voice was almost nonchalant.

"Oh." There was a long pause. "Harry, are you alright?" I don't think I'd ever heard Bob sound concerned before that moment.

I didn't answer him for an even longer moment.

"I don't know." I sighed and heaved myself to my feet, wobbling only the slightest bit. "But I don't have time to not be alright, so I'll say I am." I bent over to pick up a pair of probably clean jeans and a button down plaid shirt – it would be easier to get on than one I had to pull of my head. I walked over to the dresser beside the bed and got out some boxers and socks, tossing them on the bed with my other clothes. My sneakers were already on the bed. "Lea wants to talk. Tomorrow at noon on neutral ground. Mac's."

"Good luck, Harry," Bob was solemn for once. "I presume you're not bringing me along?"

"Not this time," I started shoving the clothes into the backpack, throwing the shoes on the ground so that I could slide my feet into them. I pulled the shield bracelet on, too.

I was about to walk out of the room when I remembered something. The dream had conjured up more than guilt. "Do you know where that aura suppressant bracelet is? It was on the coffee table, but… you know."

Typically, I was always wearing the leather band, but I took it off when Lea came over. I wasn't sure why; maybe because she was the only living being that knew the full extent, or at least most, of my past. There was at least some trust there, even if it was almost involuntary. Also, it had been under Lea's guidance that I'd made the bracelet. It was the most complicated bit of magic I'd ever done. It suppressed one's aura, which was a feat on its own, but it did it without affecting one's magical capabilities, which was extremely difficult. Before I'd attempted it, I'd thought it to be impossible. It probably would have been, for me at least, if not for Lea.

"It's by your textbooks, I believe. And you may want to bring your belt buckle. Just in case." A note of concern sill colored Bob's normally sarcastic voice.

"Thanks." I grabbed the leather belt from a hook beside the bedroom door as I left, gently shutting it behind me.

I stood in the ruined living room once again, and again emotion failed me. I felt only a vague feeling of resignation. This had never been much of a home to me, only a place to stay. This disaster only confirmed it for me; I needed a new apartment.

But that was a problem for another day.

I went to pick up my college books, and found that Bob had been right – big surprise there- and the bracelet had been under the heavy stack of books. I grunted as I tried to wedge the book in with my clothes without hurting myself, but found the task to be impossible. I kept jabbing my ribs with the corners and my broken arm burned from holding up the pack. I managed to get the two Psych. books in before I gave up and resigned myself to carrying the language books in arm. They were the smaller of the books, anyway. I picked up a notebook and pencil as well before I left.

Carefully, I stepped around the shards of glass and wood. When I went to close the door behind me as I stepped out into the hall, I felt a feeling of finality. Like I was closing the door on more than just an apartment. It felt like I was closing the door on a life.

**A/N: I definitely didn't mean for this to take so long to write, but I'm pretty happy with the length and the content. I know exactly how I want to story to go; I even have a plot map and everything. (x  
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**But there you have it: Harry's a college boy! Just kind of a personal fantasy I'm indulging here. **

**Also, I'm considering writing _From the Outside Looking In_; it would be scenes from _Running in Circles_ told from other characters' POV, like when Murphy first finds Dresden, or the church scene. Yay or nay?**


	6. Chapter 6

**NOTICE: REWRITE**

It's been quite a while since I've update this story; sorry about that. I re-read it and found that it needed a lot of work to get it up to where I wanted it it this is mind, I've started reworking it. I'm adding in a couple of new plot points and characters and trying out writing from several POVs. I've already finished the first chapter, but I want to finish another one before I start posting anything. Hopefully it will be a better read this time around. Thanks for you patience, guys.

**Spoilers/New Info:**

**New Title**: _Guaranteed: __Misinformation_

**Summary**: Justin never adopted Harry, and he is taught by the Leandasidhe instead. His life falls apart, and now he's on the run from the Fae and the White Council. When the cops, the Outfit, and the Church get involved, nothing but trouble is guaranteed.

**Characters**: Marcone and Hendricks will be prominent characters in this version, along with Murphy and Michael. I'm going to be writing from their POVs at some point in the story, but it will mostly be told from Harry's perspective.

**UPDATE:**

**The first chapter of the new version is up! Go check it out. :)**


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